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In popular imagination, the original Operation Vijay in 1971 is rightly seen as India’s greatest military victory. That campaign broke up Pakistan, helped create Bangladesh and erased the painful memories of the politico-diplomatic-military debacle India had suffered against China in ’62. But before ’71 came ’65 and the 22-day war that allowed the Indian military to regain its confidence. Looking back at that confrontation 50 years on, it’s clear Pakistan saw that time as its best chance to wrest Kash­mir from India. Perhaps rightly so since India’s military was still struggling to overcome the humiliation of ’62. It was in the middle of an expansion and reorg­anisation. India itself was in transition after Jawaharlal Nehru’s death. A seemingly soft Lal Bahadur Shastri was at the helm.

The Pakistan army on the other hand was being equipped with latest American military hardware. The Patton tanks were far superior to India’s World War II vintage Shermans, Cen­tu­rions and AMX tanks. But as history shows us half a century on, superior military equipment does not necessarily translate into guaranteed military victory.

Although Pakistan’s ultimate objective was Kashmir, it launched a diversionary gambit in faraway Kutch in March ’65, then followed it up with Op Gibraltar (sending in waves of raiders into the Kashmir Valley) in August and then thr­eatened to cut off Akhnoor in September.

Facing a dire situation, Prime Minister Shastri authorised opening another front across Punjab, apparently catching Pak­is­tan by surprise. As Indian forces raced towards the Ichogil canal and were on the doorsteps of Lahore, a desperate Pakistan launched its spearhead, the 1 Armoured Division equip­ped with the latest Pattons into the war to break through Indian defences to threaten Amritsar and Jalandhar. The M-47 and M-48 Pattons were the most modern of that period. They had good sighting systems and stabilised gun platforms that had a range of 2,000 metres. Equipped with infrared sights, they could operate by night. The Indian armoured regiments on the other hand were mostly equipped with Shermans, with a range of just 800 metres and no night sights.

As the Pakistani armour reached the vital bridges across the Beas river, it seemed only a matter of time before the tanks broke through Indian defences.

Pakistan had a bold plan to reach the bridges at Harike and Beas which would give it multiple options of threatening Amritsar, Jalandhar and onward to Delhi. It is also apparent that India’s Western Command was not certain of the location of Pakistani 1 Armoured Division, which was positioned at Kasur, ready to spearhead the offensive into India’s critical bridges on the Beas.

D-day for the operation was initially September 7, 1965. Inexplicably, Pakistan delayed the offensive by 24 hours. The delay helped the Indian troops prepare defences, lay mines and undertake flooding of the fields by breaching the Rohi Nala and the distributary canals to make the open area waterlogged. This automatically imposed restrictions on the movement of the Pakistani armour. As the unsuspecting tanks of Pakistan’s 1 Armoured Division launched the offensive at 8.30 am on September 8, they were engaged by tanks of Deccan Horse. Utilising standing crops, the tanks were engaged by Deccan Horse, medium guns and tank-hunting teams. Deccan Horse managed to destroy 11 tanks while losing four of their own. Three other Pakistani tanks were damaged by medium guns and tank-hunting parties.

On the third day of the op, the Pakistani tanks had overrun the forward trenches. CQMH Abdul Hamid got three, not the fourth.

Such heavy losses compelled the Pakis­tanis to retreat. Their units launched the next attack after a considerable gap at 11.30 on September 8. The attack was led by a regiment of Pattons, a squadron of Chaffees and a motorised battalion of the Pakistani 4 Armoured Brigade. They attacked 1/9 Gorkha Rifles and 4 Grena­diers. The attack was partially successful in the 1/9 Gorkha Rifles location but unable to make headway in 4 Grenadiers. The Pakistanis again attacked 4 Grena­d­iers at 12. Despite some of their trenches being overrun, the battalion with its anti-tank gunners comprising Subedar Mool Chand and Company Quarter Master Havildar (CQMH) Abdul Hamid knocked out four tanks. The arm­our tried to outflank the divisional sector from the north but the prepositioned tanks of 3 Cavalry countered this ably. Attacks were made at dawn on September 9 too along both axes. Two tanks were blown up on the minefield and another was destroyed by the recoilless gun of 4 Grenadiers. During the afternoon, the Pakistanis made an attempt to outflank from the southeast but failed as they got bogged down in the flooded area at Valtoha and were destroyed one by one.

In the battle, some Pakistani tank commanders who had their heads out of the cupola were killed. By September 10, the Pakistanis were in a desperate situation. They tried to outflank the defences from the west with two regiments of Pattons and a squadron of Chaffees with a motorised battalion only to be encountered by the tanks of 3 Cavalry and 8 Cavalry that were camouflaged in the cane fie­lds. Then, 4 Grenadiers was attacked with a battalion of infantry and a few Patton tanks. The tanks managed to overrun the forward trenches. CQMH Hamid who had been shifted to the anti-tank platoon destroyed three tanks but was shot by the fourth. For this act of gallantry, he was awarded the Param Vir Chakra posthum­ously. As the attack on 4 Grenadiers failed, the Pakistani outflanking armour charged on Mahmudpura, but they were decimated by the Centurions lying in wait, crushing Pakistan’s 1 Armoured Division. The commanding officer of Pakistan’s 4 Cavalry was captured in the cane fields. Asal Uttar-Khem Karan was a great victory for the Indian army. The Pakistanis lost 97 tanks, including 72 Pattons; 32 were captured in running condition. India in contrast lost only five. India won what is now acknowledged as the biggest tank battle fought after WW-II.

It is now apparent that Pakistan had grand plans but poor execution. India on the other hand displayed keen tactical sense, resolute leadership and clever improvisation to turn the tide of the war. The battle also showed that the man behind the weapon is more important than the weapon itself. Deccan Horse and regiments of 2 Independent Armou­red Brigade were adept at handling Shermans, Centurions and AMX tanks. In assaults led by armour, the infantry must move with the armour. This prevents tanks falling prey to anti-tank weapons, something CQMH Hamid exploited.

Demoralised with the setback at Khem Karan, Pakistan lost the heart to fight. Today, a memorial for those who fought and won in this sector boasts a board ‘Patton Wreckers’ on the general area of Assal Uttar and Khem Karan. It’s a reminder that no matter how good the weapon, the battle is won by those who wield it effectively.

In the sixties of the last century, India was embroiled in two major conflicts—with China in 1962 and with Pakistan in 1965. India had not really anticipated a conflict with China, and was surprised by the development, for the government was engaged in diplomatic efforts to solve the border issue. The Indo-Pak war of 1965 was of a different mould, for it occurred in the context of several earlier skirmishes in Jammu & Kashmir. The results of the two conflicts also greatly differed. India had the worst of the exchanges (and outcomes) in the conflict with China, but vis-a-vis Paki­s­tan, India held the upper hand.

Also, in neither instance was India perceived as the aggressor. India’s history hardly records any instance of us being the aggressor. Hence, it has not been entirely possible to test the validity of Sun Zi’s pithy maxim, “Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first, and then seek to win”.

The 1962 war did however provide India’s intelligence agencies with valuable lessons, including the danger of depending overly on intelligence provided by friendly western agencies, much of which seemed to confirm India’s own perceptions that China was unlikely to provoke an armed conflict. The agencies also learnt not to permit “atmospherics”—such as the perceived state of relations between any two countries—to override hard intelligence provided by field operatives. Further, how critically important it was to have strategic intelligence, and not depend excessively on tactical intelligence. Lack of information about China’s intentions brought home to India’s int­elligence agencies the “blind spot” in their intelligence-gathering efforts.

Intel warnings that the Ichogil canal would slow India’s tanks weren’t heeded by the army; this delayed Lahore advance.

When the India-Pakistan war broke out in 1965, India was much better prepared to take on the combatant country. Moreover, Pakistan had all along been perceived as a hostile and irrational neighbour. The bulk of India’s armed forces were, therefore, already positioned in the west/northwest of the country to blunt any possible Pakistani offensive. On the intelligence side as well, India was well prepared to deal with Pakistan. A series of skirmishes between April and September of 1965 had alerted intelligence agencies about Pakistan’s plans. They also had time to hone their skills, taking advantage of the improvements effected in the wake of the Sino-Indian conflict.

The 1965 India-Pakistan conflict involved two major Pakistani campai­gns—‘Operation Gibraltar’, designed to infiltrate its forces (as irregulars) into Jammu & Kashmir and provoke an insurgency; supplemented by ‘Opera­t­ion Grand Slam’, launched subseque­n­tly, aimed at cutting the overland route to Kashmir to prevent India from bringing its tanks into Kashmir. The latter witnessed large-scale casualties, and several fierce tank battles.

India’s intelligence agencies performed well during both campaigns. Incursions by Pakistan into the Rann of Kutch earlier on had provided some excellent leads into Pakistani thinking—including its future plans to carry out large-scale incursions across the ceasefire line. Consequently, when around 30,000 Pakistani soldiers crossed the LoC in August 1965 disguised as locals and headed to various points, Indian security forces could effect several captures. This, in turn, provided additional information on Pakistan’s plans.

The agencies had another piece of valuable intelligence—that Pakistan was feeling emboldened to launch a strike across the ceasefire line based on its wrong hypothesis that following the Sino-Indian conflict India’s military was unable, or unwilling, to tackle any quick military campaign in Kashmir. Pakistan’s military thus saw this as an excellent opportunity to strike. Anti­ci­pating Pakistan’s possible gambit, India could thus checkmate Operation Grand Slam. India’s decision to enlarge the theatre of conflict away from Kashmir into Pakistan Punjab and further to the south was largely dictated by advance information of Pakistan’s plans.{Shows why intelligence reporting to PMO is very, very crucial. LBS decided to cross the IB based on IB intelligence. This is first time we are hearing this.}

Intelligence warnings that the Ichogil canal would act as a major barrier to India’s tanks were, however, not heeded by the army. This delayed the Indian army’s advance towards—and possible capture of—Lahore. It subsequently became a major point of contention—with the army contending that it had not been informed about the existence of the Ichogil canal.

Euphoria that Pakistan had been bested in the conflict was replaced after the war by recrimination about faulty intelligence provided by the Intelligence Bureau about the Ichogil canal. Consequently, there was a ren­ewed demand for restructuring and revitalising the intelligence system—a demand that had already been made following the Sino-Indian conflict of 1962, and been partially met. The military sought the creation of a separate external intelligence agency—one pos­s­ibly headed by a member of the armed forces—to better deal with conflicts of the 1962 and 1965 variety.

{Turf battles leading to creation of RAW}

Already, following the 1962 Sino-Indian conflict, substantial changes in intelligence capabilities had been effected. The charter of the Intelligence Bureau—a legacy of British rule in India whose responsibilities were limited to domestic intelligence, internal security and border issues—had greatly expanded. Extensive discussions among experts had preceded this step. The aim was to make the IB a modern agency, better suited to deal with the evolving nature of current conflicts.

Among the changes made was the creation of a directorate-general of security which comprised the Aviation Research Centre (ARC), the Indo-Tibetan Border Force (ITB) and the Special Security of the Border Force (SSB). The directorate-general of security was to function nominally under the Intelligence Bureau, and also report to its director.

The ARC was the game-changer, possessing as it did highly sophisticated technical intelligence-gathering capabilities, with an aviation wing for special operations. The ITB was to operate as sentinels on the Sino-Indian border, comprising both a political and a security component. The SSB was to be a “stay-behind organisation”. Not ackn­ow­ledged was an extremely secretive body intended to carry out special operations across the border in Tibet.

The growing clamour for bifurcating external and internal intelligence functions reached a crescendo following the 1965 war. This coincided with a period when the general perception worldwide was to have separate organisations for external and internal intelligence. The rationale was that the basic requirements—including the nature of personnel for these agencies—differed. Also that all modern democratic nations had separate external and internal intelligence agencies.

The government conceded the dem­and in the face of a determined move in this direction. In 1968, the Intelligence Bureau split into the Intelligence Bureau for domestic and border intelligence; and the Research and Analysis Wing (RAW), exclusively intended to deal with foreign intelligence. The RAW duly incorporated the directorate-gen­eral of security set-up, and also incl­uded the external intelligence wing of the IB. R.N. Kao, an Intelligence Bureau veteran, was chosen to head and shape the new external agency.

The real benefit that came from est­a­b­lishing a separate agency was in the changed mindset. It included the realisation that a modern state required a state-of-the-art external intelligence agency, constantly striving to improve its technological and innovative skills to handle the evolving nature of threats.

The intelligence profession today has moved far beyond the techniques of intelligence set out in Sun Zi’s Bingfa and Kautilya’s Arthashastra. While human intelligence remains a vital component, intelligence is now heavily dependent on innovative technological methodologies. Capabilities in regard to intelligence collection, analysis and assessment have all grown exponentially. By far the biggest game-changer has been the internet. With the internet, information has become more dynamic, more interactive and more abundant, and also ubiquitously accessible.

Posterity might have neglected the Indo-Pak war of 1965. But it was significant, and must be understood in the backdrop of 1962.

Srinath Raghavan

The war of 1965 against Pakistan occupies a penumbral position in Indian history as well as memory. Sandwiched between the wars with China in 1962 and Pakistan in 1971, the 1965 conflict evokes neither the humiliation of defeat nor the frisson of decisive victory. From scholars and historians it has elicited little more than a collective professional yawn. Indeed, there is hardly any new writing on the war that is comparable to what is now available for the other two conflicts that bookended the decade. Yet, as we approach the 50th anniversary of the war, it is important to recall its magnitude for India. In the full-scale conventional war lasting 22 days, India captured some 1,920 sq km of Pakistani territory—at the cost of nearly 11,500 casualties and the loss of almost 550 sq km of its own territory. These are not trivial numbers. The neglect of posterity is not a good measure of the significance of this war.

To understand the import of the 1965 war, it is essential to see it as a conflict waged in the shadow of the 1962 war. This was not just a matter of temporal adjacency. Rather, the defeat against China had deeply impacted on Indian poli­tics, diplomacy and strategy. It was the unspoken background to practically every major move by India in 1965. It is the key to understanding popular reaction to the conflict and its outcome.

The 1962 war had shaken the grip of prime minister Jawaharlal Nehru both on his party and on the country. He had managed to keep discontent from bubbling over by letting go of his much-reviled defence minister, Krishna Menon, and by imposing the so-called Kamaraj Plan, which rid him of key opponents within his government as well as in the states. Although Lal Bahadur Shastri had been among those who resigned under the plan, he was soon brought back to assist the prime minister. To the extent that anyone was Nehru’s chosen heir, it was Shastri. As prime minister, Shastri was aware both of the increasing fractiousness in the Congress and of his own uncertain hold on the party. He also realised that mishandling foreign policy could prove rather costly in domestic politics.

Hostility started in April 1965 with incursions in the Rann of Kutch. But war did not break out until August that year.

The Pakistani incursion into the Rann of Kutch in April-May 1965 underscored this point. The army chief, General J.N. Chaudhuri, advised against escalating the fighting in that area as the terrain favoured Pakistan. If Pakistan continued to pour in troops, he suggested, India could consider opening another, more suitable front. Shastri accordingly refrained from widening India’s military involvement in the conflict. Eventually, on July 1, 1965, he agreed to a ceasefire brokered by British Prime Minister Harold Wilson. More importantly, Shastri assented to the border in this sector being delineated by a three-member international tribunal. This seemed to fly in the face of India’s past opposition to submitting its disputes with Pakistan for arbitration. It took all of Shastri’s calm and persuasive style to convince the Congress party that this move was not a sell-out. Shastri insisted that it would set no precedent for any other dispute: “Each dispute has a history of its own and is a separate matter.” Aware of pockets of discontent in his own party, the prime minister also made an unusually detailed public speech on this issue. Yet during the second half of 1965, the government faced a no-confidence motion in Parliament. The opposition demanded scrapping the Rann of Kutch agreement and a tougher stance towards Pakistan.

Even as the House debated these matters, Pakistan had launched a covert military operation in Kashmir. In early August 1965 Pakistani irregulars began to infiltrate across the Ceasefire Line (CFL) in Kashmir. Once Indian forces in Kashmir began responding to these moves, Shastri took the full cabinet into confidence on August 12 and sought an endorsement of the broad outlines of his policy: India would not approach the UN; Pakistan would be sternly warned against infringing on Indian sovereignty; plans would be prepared for various contingencies. Such careful political handling of the unfolding situation was characteristic of Shastri’s approach throughout the war. And it stemmed from the experience of 1962.

The prime minister’s diplomatic handling of the conflict was equally deliberate yet also sure-footed. No sooner had the war escalated in Kashmir than Shastri was faced with pressure from the great powers: the United States, Britain and the Soviet Union, all weighed in to the stop the subcontinental conflict. Even Egypt and Yugoslavia, India’s partners in the Non-Aligned Movement, joined the chorus for ceasefire—a clear indication of India’s diminished standing in the Third World after 1962. Shastri politely but firmly responded that Pakistan was the aggressor and that India could not make any unilateral moves towards peace. The UN secretary general, U Thant, not only sent several messages but eventually landed up in Delhi.

Taking control Indian troops stream into a deserted Pakistani village near Sialkot

When U Thant suggested an unconditional ceasefire by both India and Pakistan, Shastri was quick to discern the diplomatic advantages of accepting such a proposal. At the very least, it would ensure that the international community would not place India and Pakistan on the same footing. It might even create a favourable situation for India as it negotiated a post-war agreement with Pakistan. By September 13, Shastri was open to U Thant’s proposal. But convincing the Congress party was not a foregone conclusion.

{MEA shenanigans?}

The defence minister, Y.B. Chavan, noted that the Congress parliamentary party executive was “very critical of peace proposals”. This forced the Eme­r­gency Committee of the Cabinet (ECC) to reconsider the idea. Eventually, it was agreed that India should accept a ceasefire, but territory captured in Kas­h­mir—especially Haji Pir pass—sho­uld not be given up. Even the drafting of the proposals encountered stiff challenges. When Shastri tabled a new draft on September 14, Chavan noted in his diary: “I did not like his sleight of hand.” In the event, Pakistan’s refusal to accept a ceasefire without international mediation on Kashmir ensured that the war continued until September 22.

While Shastri did navigate the shoals of domestic politics and diplomacy with some deftness, his handling of strategic matters was hamstrung by the ghost of 1962. In the wake of that conflict, there was widespread agreement that political interference in military matters had directly led to the debacle. So there was a tacit understanding among both civilian and military leaders that the former would not intrude into operational matters. This division of labour had deleterious consequences during the 1965 war.

In early August 1965, as infiltration increased in Kashmir, Gen Chaudhuri sought Shastri’s permission to take offensive action across the CFL against the infiltrators’ bases. He also requested that if this action escalated and drew in the Pakistani army, the Indian forces should be free to retaliate at any place of their choosing. The prime minister acceded to this request, knowing full well that it might lead to war with Pakistan. Yet, he took no interest in the military’s plans for waging such a war. As the then defence secretary, P.V.R. Rao, recalled, “After giving the broad directive on August 13, the prime minister did not concern himself with the details of the operations.” The defence minister, too, “never interfered in operational matters”. Throughout the war, the ECC “never discussed operational matters but only political issues.”

On September 3, when Pak­istan responded to Indian moves across the ceasefire line by launching a full-scale assault on Akhnoor, aimed at sealing off Kashmir, Shastri authorised an attack across the international boundary in Punjab. But at no point did he or Chavan engage their military advisors in any discussion of strategy—of how military means were to translate into the desired political ends.

The prime minister identified the objectives as: defeating the Pakistani attempt to capture Kashmir; destroying the offensive power of Pakistan’s armed forces; and occupying only minimum necessary Pakistani territory, which would subsequently be vacated. The second of these was obviously the most ambitious. Yet, how exactly it would be achieved was never discussed. Left to himself, Chaudhuri decided to make a number of shallow advances on a wide front and then dig in, hoping to wear down the enemy.

Other side Women training in Dacca, E. Pakistan, 1965

The Indian official history of the war is severe in its assessment of this plan: “Instead of delivering a large number of inconsequential jabs, the Indian army could perhaps have gone for a few selected, powerful thrusts.... Faulty strategy lead to stalemate on all fronts.” Worse, Chaudhuri made no attempt to convey his overall operational concept to his subordinates. As the official historians note, “Field Commanders were not clear about their objectives.”

Gen Chaudhuri said we’re short of ammo and tanks. In fact only 14% of ammo had been used; we had twice Pakistan’s tanks.

Despite a string of operational setbacks and stalemates, the political leadership chose not to exercise close oversight of military operations. The defence minister was mostly content being briefed by the chiefs on the operations. Apart from a couple of occasions where he exhorted the military to press on with the attacks, there is no evidence to suggest that he probed deeply on the conduct of the operations. The military, too, kept the civilians at arm’s length. As Chavan noted with chagrin when the Indian offensives began to stall, “Morning meeting—As usual ‘nothing special’ report was given by the COAS.... I must find out why things are not moving.” The civilians’ reluctance to intervene in military matters could be carried to absurd lengths. On September 5, President Radhakrishnan called the defence minister to enquire if the Indian army was planning a counter-attack across the international border in Punjab. The commander-in-chief had been briefed only the previous day by the prime minister. Chavan too had spoken to him that morning to greet him on his birthday. It turned out Radhakrishnan had been told of the assaul plan by Aruna Asaf Ali, who in turn had heard it from a senior journalist who claimed to have been briefed by a senior officer at army HQ. Alarmed at the leak, Chavan asked Rao to immediately probe the matter. On enquiring, it was found the source was none other than Gen Chaudhuri. Although the defe­nce minister was apprised of the matter, the army chief was not even asked for an explanation, let alone being reproved.

As the then defence secretary explai­ned later, “In the view of the public outcry since the 1962 debacle about the relative role of politicians and the services and their chiefs”, the military leadership had been given “somewhat of a long rope.” This attitude proved detrimental in the closing stages. On September 20, as pressure for accepting a ceasefire mounted, Chavan sought Chaudhuri’s assessment. Chaudhuri asserted that the objectives of the war were achieved. “We are on top of the situation (and) if we agree to a ceasefire now, the army would support it. The respite we will get will be good to put things right as far as supplies were concerned.” At another meeting that evening, the prime minister enquired whether they could expect significant military advantage if the war continued for a few more days; if so, he would keep the UN Security Council at bay. Chaudhuri counselled for a ceasefire, claiming that most of the army’s ammunition had been used and that there had been considerable tank losses. The Indian government accordingly decided to accept the UN proposal for ceasefire. Chaudhuri should have known better. At this point the army had expended only 14 per cent of its frontline ammunition; and it had twice as many tanks as the Pakistanis. If anything, the logistical situation of the Pakistani forces was parlous. But the earlier reverses had made Chaudhuri rather circumspect, and hence he plumped for a ceasefire. And so the war ended in stalemate.

Following in the wake of the fiasco against China, this outcome was hailed as a victory by the Indian public. Shastri’s political stock soared. And it enabled him to come into his own in the post-war negotiations at Tashkent. Despite the opposition from some quarters in the Congress as well as other parties to giving up Haji Pir, Shastri managed to build consensus in favour of peace. On the afternoon of January 4, 1966, Shastri and Ayub Khan inked the agreement restoring status quo ante. It was Shastri’s finest moment. Later that night, he succumbed to a massive heart attack, leaving behind a truncated legacy of leadership in war and peace.

In the Kashmir Valley, the common conceit about Operation Gibraltar is that in the summer of 1965, Pakistani soldiers and insurgents secretly infiltrated into J&K, the motive being to spark an anti-India uprising in the Valley. The operation, as it later appeared, was launched as hurriedly as it had been planned. The ‘project’ was exposed after a shepherd, Mohammad Din Gujjar, reported to the police about the presence of “some strangers” in Tangmarg near Gulmarg, 40 km north of Srinagar. (Gujjar was punished for his ‘crime’ 25 years later, in May 1990, when he was shot dead by Kashmiri militants.)

{ It was stupid of Indian govt and media to reveal the name of the shepherd as it exposed him to retaliation by Paki terrorists. Their eagerness to report that Op Gibraltar did not have Kashmiri support made them reveal without understanding the consequences.}

Sheikh Showkat Hussain, who teaches law at Central University of Kashmir, believes that Pakistan contemplated a rebellion in Kashmir after India had started claiming Kashmir as an “integral part” of the country, which was contrary to the UN resolutions. India’s defeat at the hands of the Chinese in the 1962 war also emboldened Pakistan in undertaking the cross-border adventure. “India had taken a host of measures to integrate Kashmir with it, brazenly eroding Article 370 in the process. These measures included changing the nomenclature of J&K’s PM to CM and ‘sadr-e- riyasat’ to governor. Kashmiris were watching the situation helplessly and anger was brewing,” says Hussain.

The people were also angry over the mysterious disappearance in December 1963 of a relic of the Prophet Moha­m­med from the Hazratbal shrine in Sri­n­agar. “One can say conditions on the ground were absolutely ripe for an armed rebellion,” says Hussain.

{This is the precursor to Paki plans to trigger Operation Gibraltar. Most likely the Paksi created the situation to create disaffection. BTW, in May 1963, Ayub Khan writes in Foreign Affairs that he is wary of India rearming as a result of 1962 China war and that would reduce TSP chances of gaining Kashmir. In Sidney Giffen's Book "Crisis Games" there is an unclassified version of an Operation Gibraltar type exercise timed for September 1966. Ayub Khan advanced the date by one year.

Am sure there must be a classified version that the author is drawing upon. My take is Op Gibraltar was a combined operation planned by US and Pakistan military with moves to be supported to cut India down. The wrinkle was Lal bahadur Shastri's determination to not be the fall guy.}

According to one estimate, about 10,000 armed personnel crossed into the Valley between July-August ’65. “The majority of them belonged to the ‘Azad Kashmir’ army and were originally citizens of J&K state. They were equipped with automatic rifles, sten-guns and other firearms and weapons,” writes veteran Kashmiri journalist Sanaullah Butt in his book Kashmir in Flames.

{MKN in accompanying article has pictures of captured Pak military officers. There were no Kashmiri civilians. All were Pak army terrorists violating the Geneva Convention and should have been shot.}

On Aug 14, ’65, it was decided that as Batamaloo area was virtually under Pak control, the area should be torched....

These events were followed by a broadcast from a secret radio station, ‘Sadai Kashmir’ (Voice of Kashmir), which said that an armed rebellion had broken out. The Pakistani soldiers, who were in civvies, had virtually taken over Srinagar as they were just 1-2 km from the civil secretariat. Skirmishes between the Indian army and Pakistani armed personnel took place in many parts of north Kashmir and in Srinagar as well. On the morning of August 14, 1965, top army commanders and the state government decided that since Batamaloo area of Srinagar was virtually under the control of Pakistanis, the area should be set on fire. Accordingly, the area was torched, reducing nearly 500 houses to ashes.

Many in the Valley argue that Kas­hmiri separatists had full knowledge of Operation Gibraltar. This contradicts the claims of General Musa Khan, commander-in-chief of the Pakistan army at that time. In his book, My Version, Khan says the Kashmiris were not taken into confidence about the operation that had started to “liberate” them. “We had not even consulted the public leaders across the ceasefire line about our aims and intentions, let alone associating them with our planning for the clandestine war,” he writes.

{Could be FUD to protect Kashmiri assets for future use.}

But Munshi Mohammed Ishaq, a former close aide of Sheikh Abdullah, and three-time acting president of the Ple­b­i­s­cite Front, says that he and the organisa­tion’s other mem­bers had full kno­w­ledge of the operation. “It had been decided that we would not remain unco­ncerned during this movement. The Pakistanis had talked to us and I had personally agreed to their plan, which was to under­t­ake a sudden operation of occupying Srinagar airport, radio station, Sadar and other police stations.... We were ent­rusted with the responsibility of see­king public support for this action so there could be no other alternative for India except to agree to have an honourable settlement of the Kashmir issue,” Ishaq is quoted by Butt in his book.

After the operation failed, Butt says a tearful Ishaq told him, “The best opportunity (for) our freedom has been lost. Nobody listened to my advice and everybody, for the sake of individual security, sabotaged the plan.” Ishaq adds that “we, out of selfishness and temerity, did not cooperate (sic)”. This reading of events doesn’t show the full picture. According to another account, Pakistani soldiers while shopping in the Valley asked for “do seir aata (two kilos of flour)”. Neither was “seir” the unit of mass in Kashmir nor flour the staple diet of Kashmiris. It was enough for the people to smell a rat.

{In other words Kashmiri politicians of Abdullah ilk were part of the plan to create a bogus rebellion in Kashmir to enable Pakistan to annex Kashmir by armed invasion. However Kashmiri common people were not keen and supported India. This conclusion is borne by the calculated murder of Kashmiris by TSP supported terrorists in the 1990s.}

After the end of the 22-day war, the Operation Gibraltar planners trained their guns on the Kashmiris. It was argued that if it were not for their non-cooperation, the operation would have been successful. Mir Abdul Aziz, a Srinagar resident who had migrated to Pakistan in 1947 where he launched an English weekly Times of Kashmir from Muzaffarabad, says, “Poor Kashmiris were made the scapegoats. Those who were sent to Kashmir Valley did not even know the Kashmiri language—the whole affair was a wild goose chase” (from Bouquet: A tribute to Unsung Heroes of Kashmir by Zahir-ud-Din).{No it was no wild goose chase but a carefully created plan by US and TSP military that went awry due to Kashmiris and LBS. Recall the Sheikh Abdullah meeting Duane Claridge, the US intelligence official, in Europe to discuss how to detach Kashmir. Death of Nehru finished off Abdullah's games}

Sitting at his desk in the cabinet office on what was by London standards a warm autumn day, an aide to British Prime Minister Harold Wilson shot off an urgent note to Number 10. A “ceasefire had been agreed” and was to come into effect at precisely 10 pm (GMT). It was September 22, 1965. Around the same time, at 7 in the mor­ning in Washington, military and civ­ilian personnel inside the situation room in the White House drafted a similar note to President Lyndon B. Johnson. The war was over. For Johnson, who cared little for South Asia, the central concern had to do with China. On Sep­t­e­mber 17, premier Zhou En-Lai warned India that further escalation could result in Chinese intervention. The CIA strongly argued that such involvement was “unl­ikely”, but the risk made it all that more important to end the war at the earliest.

{These two events of UK and US shows they were quite interested contrary to the title of the article!!!}

If the Chinese too chose to send forces across the border into India, the United States would be compelled to enter a war its commander-in-chief had no interest in whatsoever. Unlike his predecessor John F. Kennedy, Johnson did not mask his disinterest in South Asia. In fact, soon after the Chinese warning made headlines in the People’s Daily, the president told Robert McNamara, the US defence secretary, that he had “made up” his mind in April, following the hostilities in the Rann of Kutch, that the US was “out of business with Ayub and Shastri”.

On balance, Johnson’s apathy was understandable. His administration was involved in a war in Vietnam that would change the course of American history. Operations like Rolling Thunder—the air bombardment campaign against North Vietnam—was far more important to this Texan and 36th American president than events in a part of the world where historical disputes had proven intractable.

Unlike Kennedy, who seized upon an opportunity following the Sino-Indian border war in 1962 to broker a deal on Kashmir, Johnson’s interests were limited to China. An intelligence field report passed to his staff on September 23 provided the assurances he needed. The “first signs”, it read, “of a relaxation in Chinese Communist military alert status” was clear. During a visit by Ayub Khan in December 1965, Johnson wryly confessed that the Pakistani president “who he once admired” was “subdued, pathetic and sad”. Ayub’s misplaced faith in the willingness of Kashmiris to rebel against the Indian state—the sole purpose of what was called Operation Gibraltar launched on August 5-6, 1965—had taken him, as Johnson put it, “on an adventure” and he had “been licked”.

{So the defeat found no supporters for Ayub Khan in US.}

In fact, and far more disastrous than Ayub and foreign minister Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto’s misreading of local sentiment in Kashmir, was their utter lack of appreciation for Anglo-American interests. These were shockingly different to those held by Kennedy and British prime minister Harold Macmillan only three years before. In fact, it was a textbook case where perceptions and strategies were based upon past trends rather than taking cognisance of changing times.

Ayub’s misplaced faith in the Kashmiris had taken him, as LBJ put it, “on an adventure” and he had “been licked”.

For Bhutto, the “intellectual father”, as the historian Dennis Kux put it, of the failed Gibraltar exercise, the calculation was simple. Intervention, escalation and war over Kashmir would force the West, the Chinese, and even the Russians to force India to negotiate away the Kash­mir Valley. After all, India succumbed to pressure from the Anglo-American qua­rter soon after the Chinese announced a unilateral ceasefire ending the 1962 war. Further, Harold Wilson’s remarks and actions in the summer of 1965 gave such fanciful thinking room to fester. It was he who offered his good offices to negotiate an end to the fighting across the Rann of Kutch in April 1965. An inf­ormal ceasefire took effect on April 30. Yet, when the Indian army crossed the international border in Punjab on September 6, “opening a second front”, Wilson pointedly told his ministers that there would be “no new initiatives in the subcontinent”. The UN, and secretary-general U Thant, would be left to “deal with this”. Britain’s approach, a foreign office memo underlined, was simply “riding out the storm”.

{Because they felt no need to intervene when their NATO equipped ally was taking on a WWII equipped Indian military. US also had invested in planning the attack as revealed inCrisis Games by Sidney Giffen. So the PAk was supposed to take advantage and failed miserably. Kennedy said "Victory has a hundred fathers, a defeat has none" So look at US-UK reaction to Ayub in that light. }

What Wilson failed to app­reciate was that actions and words lead to expectations. Soon after the Kutch ceasefire in April, the chest-thumping PM fervently argued that “Britain’s frontiers were on the Himalayas”. As hollow as these statements might have been, they did well to support Bhutto’s view that the West would once again intervene. Such loose talk, Bhutto and others later learnt, were better suited for after-dinner huddles around a fire remembering the Raj inside the likes of the Brooks Club in Pic­cadilly. Britain’s feeble attempt to rec­over post-colonial authority died a quick death. Wilson’s frontiers disappea­red when it really mattered. In turn, Joh­nson’s disinterest could have been excused. After all, he was charged with recovering the fortunes of American power gradually sapped by a relatively tiny country in Southeast Asia.

That Russia under Alexei Kosygin was quick to occupy the diplomatic space vacated by London and Washington was both expected and ironic. Expected because Kosygin suggested a peace conference in Tashkent well before the war ended. Ironic because for the first one-and-a-half decades following Indian and Pakistani independence, the US and Britain had done everything possible to stem the Soviet tide in what historian Robert McMahon calls the “Cold War in the periphery”. As one of Wilson’s staffers argued, the reality was that the “Russian move”, directed as it might have been against China’s growing authority, was equally “directed against western influence in the subcontinent”, and there was little to be done. A special report prepared by the CIA concurred. Further, Kashmir, it argued, was a “national issue” for both India and Pakistan. It was best to leave this “impasse” to them.

{How does this assessment reconcile with sending Deputy Director level officials to meet Sheikh Abdullah in Europe to plan a rebellion in Kashmir?

Non-involvement became the new mantra for both Britain and the US. India has done much since 1965 to limit western involvement. Pakistan has invested considerable treasure and manpower to lobbying congressional representatives in the US and the many members of parliament representing the 1.5 million diaspora in the UK to reignite Wilson’s Himalayan frontiers, but to little realisable effect. The 1965 war may not have been a watershed conflict. It was unlike the more dramatic encounter in 1971 that led to the birth of a new country. Yet, for the large part, it seriously limited Anglo-American interest in a dispute that, as the CIA pointedly put it, is one best solved between the nations involved.

The memories unleashed by a clock—frozen at 11 pm since 1966—arrest the room in a time-warp. It is after all the room where Lal Bahadur Shastri, India’s second prime minister, used to rest. His mysterious death on January 11, 1966, the day after he had signed the Tashkent Declaration formally ending the war with Pakistan, is yet to be unravelled. Forty-nine years on, all we have are versions of how it might have happened and speculation on whether there was anything suspicious at all.

On the other hand, his political legacy and the hardy ethos he evoked with his slogan ‘Jai Jawan! Jai Kisan!’ have a resonance with every flavour of political belief. The Sangh parivar has spoken of Shastri glowingly. Recently, RSS chief Mohan Bhagwat commended Shastri at a function in the former PM’s hometown Ramnagar. He was releasing a biography of Shastri by Neeraja Madhav. Shastri’s younger son Sunil Shastri was with Bhagwat for the book release. Sunil too has written a biography of his father. He is now with the BJP. Another of Shastri’s sons, Anil (also co-author of another biography of his father), has always been with the Congress. Anil’s son, however, has joined the Aam Aadmi Party (AAP). “The legacy of a public life continues in this way,” says Anil, adding, “Which party somebody joins we cannot dictate.”

Both sons have distinct memories of the day war was declared. Sunil was playing cricket in the lawns sometime in the late afternoon with a radio blaring out the commentary of another match in the background. This perfect setting was disturbed by an announcement on the radio—Pakistan’s heavy artillery sending shells whizzing over Amritsar. “I raced to 10 Janpath and told my father, ‘Have you heard this?’” Shastri senior indulged the young boy of around 15: “Is it so? What must we do?” “We must attack, we must respond likewise,” Sunil had replied.

It was a war that opened multiple fronts, and the decision to do so, say both Anil and Sunil, was taken in but an instant. “It was as if Babuji knew what he had to do in the situation,” says Anil, who was at one of those rare early dinners where the whole family was present when news of the war finally broke. The prime minister was suddenly called away from his meal, but returned in ten minutes, and the curious family milled around him: “Babuji, what was the matter?” they had wanted to know. “You must be prepared for war,” came the unhesitant response, Anil recalls.

Anil says he knew war wasn’t far almost a month ago, when he heard his father speak on the ramparts of Red Fort: “Hum hathhyaaron ka jawaab hathhyaaron se denge.” The crowd gathered before him was swept up in applause.

Lal Bahadur Shastri with troops during the time of the 1965 war. His leadership was seen as inspiring and bold.

“It wasn’t just that there had been skirmishes along the border and I knew it could escalate. There was something in the tone of that speech which convinced me. Perhaps Pakistan’s Ayub Khan was underestimating Babuji,” says Anil. He, too, noted that the first meeting their father held with the military chiefs in his office had barely lasted a few minutes. “I had peeped through the keyhole of his office,” confesses Sunil. “I saw the chiefs salute my father. And, as Gen Chaudhuri came out of the office, I saw he had a noticeable beam, a kind of glow on his face. He said something then, which I cannot fully recall, but I think it was ‘Maa Kali ki jai!’” recollects Sunil.

Sunil did ask his father what had transpired between him and the three chiefs. The prime minister had told him what he told the whole family later: “I will take care of the country, while the army will take care of the borders.”

It was then that the entire Shastri clan ‘prepared for war’. At least once, they huddled into a trench dug out for their safety nearby the house that is now the Lal Bahadur Shastri Memorial museum. They slept at Rashtrapati Bhavan some nights. And around this time came the slogan, ‘Jai Jawan, Jai Kisan!’

From the shadow of Nehru’s prime ministership to that of the Gandhis’ political clout, has the memory and legacy of India’s second prime minister changed? Was Lal Bahadur Shastri a steely-resolved, frugal, charismatic yet understated leader, or a left-of-centre man whose heart never ceased to bleed for farmers and the poor?

As Anil recalls, there was much more to the man than the political consciousness now allows one to recall.

It was his father who set up the legal framework for the Central Vigilance Commission, which investigates administrative corruption. “He wasn’t an aggressive man, but he was assertive,” says Anil. Is it because of this assertiveness that the BJP speaks more often of Shastri’s legacy as a popular leader than even the Congress? “The BJP will find it very tough to appropriate Shastriji,” Anil feels. “Remember that during A.B. Vajpayee’s prime ministership, the slogan had become ‘Jai Jawan! Jai Kisan! Jai Vigyan!’ But soon after Vajpayee’s stint that slogan vanished and it returned to the original.”

Indeed, when Sunil tried his hand at independent politics with his Jai Jawan Jai Kisan Forum, it came a cropper. “It was a terribly immature move, but it was also a clear sign that in today’s politics you need to command large resources and an equally large team,” says Sunil. “It’s the dream, the vision, that I seek to keep alive,” he adds, explaining why he is a “Shastri in the BJP”.

Some say the clock in Shastri’s bedroom, frozen in time, had stopped working at 11 pm on January 11 1965, the reported time of his death in Tashkent. For this notion too, there are as many versions as history permits.

A couple of my hostel wingmates were frequent visitors to a place called SI, in KGP town. They made friends with young flying officers and Flt. Lts who used to frequent that place for a movie, drinks and dinner. These mates had gone over to the officer's mess in Kalaikunda, and on that fateful day as we cycled to Kalaikunda to find out why there was this black plume of smoke emanating from the AFB.

The first attack had happened in the morning at about 630ish as we heard the window panes in our mess hall rattle and then the sound of explosions. We raced outside clutching our plates with our spartan, cold, insipid breakfast. To see, silver shapes diving with even smaller darker shapes being released from the under the aircraft.

Huge dark plumes of smoke emanated from the AFB. The question ringing in my mind for the next couple of hours as to why there was no opposition from our AF chaps. Ears tuned for (hopefully not) other sounds of explosions. As soon as the two hour lab class was over, a couple of us raced through the college main building gathering other wingmates, dumped our books in the hostel and set off for the pedalling to Kalaikunda, about 10 Km away.

As we reached what we thought the AFB was, one of our mates stopped and pointed to a shrine on the side of the road. Like a Gol Gumbaaz you see dotted along the road from Hyderabad to Himmayat Sagar. We dismounted and conferred, our attention on the shrine. Never seen this before and I have been here plenty of times. Are we on the right road?” said one of my mates.

Then we were shocked by what unfolded. As we watched the Gol part split open and an anti aircraft gun started its deafening fullisade of shots into the sky.

And lo and behold, there were three silvery silent shapes of F86. (I used to buy every edition of the Observer's Handbook of aircraft). They were F86's. And the bombs dropped, but away from us. That seemed like the sole ack – ack gun.

A few of us jumped into a deep roadside ditch. Half of us stood in astonishment. We were being frigging attacked and why hadn't Kalaikunda sent up aircraft to meet them. Or had they? And the bludy pakis had evaded them?

With screams from the ditch directed at us: "Get in here you idjuts, you'll get killed." But we stood there wanting a good view. Willing, hoping and praying that there would be retribution for these marauding pigs. The F86s did the seconf run.

Phew! At that moment we heard the added throaty roar of a flight of Hunters and a well fought, victorious battle was joined. We cheered our chaps and abused the Pakis passionately as the fight unfolded in front of us. The ack-ack gun stopped. It was the only ack-ack gun as we never saw any puffs of smoke emanating from elsewhere.

The first dogfight we noticed

The sky was otherwise empty, but the sound of jets could be heard from various directions. But one pair was visible.

The adversaries were high. A Hunter and an F86 circling each other 180 degrees apart. Warily. Suddenly the Hunter raced and banked sharply and he must have fired as the F86 was spewing smoke and started spiralling downward in what seemed an accelerating, uncontrollable spin. The Hunter watched, but did not follow him, so convincing were the "death throes". Then all of a sudden the F86 flattened out and raced to the IIT tower. Oops we thought. "Hope the joker hasn't a bomb left to drop on IIT. From our line of sight he was headed for our main building! Then he veered to port and raced off.

Then we saw a Hunter, in silence, gliding past us, ahead of us and landing on the strip which was to the left., seemingly without engine power!

We then looked around and we could hear the sound of engines but not see any aircraft.

The second dogfight

As we scanned the skies, waiting, hoping we could see the destruction of the Pakis, a Hunter cam screaming from our right. At low level. Weaving as an F86 charged at him, the gap closing very quickly.

At this point everything for me went into slowmo.

A short ineffectual burst of the F86 cannon. The admonishment from the ditch growing louder and faster at the clatter of the cannon. But two of my batchmates and I stood there. We did not want to miss a scene of a lifetime. If our chaps could sacrifice their lives for us, we were going to brave it too and cheer Flt. Lt. Cooke for all it was worth. After all, we had ringside seats to a show; to avenge ’47 and wipe out the shame of ’62.

The Hunter was the Hunted. And slowing. His face visible. And then suddenly he started what seemed like a loop.The Paki too fast for he would have hit the Hunter if he followed suit with his faster speed. The Paki was visible too. It was a low, absolutely within range dogfight. The Hunter seemed to claw the air as he rose. And just as the paki passed by under him, we could see a sense of astonishment on the Pakis face. My reading was that it dawned on him that he had been had!

The Hunter was at sufficient height. And to me he seemed momentarily still in the air. His nose away and to the right from a vertical though his tail. Enough momentum to flip. And then he gracefully flipped and increased his engine as he now became what he was meant to be: THE HUNTER!

The Paki weaved. The Hunter was at the same height and dead on right between him. Then I saw the most awesome sight as the Hunter opened fire. A long burst.

The effect was electric. Cannon holes being lazily stitched across the Paki's port wing. Brass cannon shell casings lazily drifting from under the Hunter, glinting in the sun. Then the sudden ball of orange flame. Followed by the sound of the explosion, the shock, and the screaming engine as the Paki tried to level his craft. The final orange and black explosion as the F86 hit the ground a couple of miles away. The hunter lazily following, turning and racing off.

To add to the incident, while we cycled to the crash site over the bumpy fields, the conversation centred around what we would do if we found the Paki alive. To wait for the MPs? This met with a strong unanimous NO.

We were the first to reach there. The horror of seeing the pilot's body in pieces. I picked up a couple of cannon shells as souvenirs. And a lot of IIT went and scavenged that a/c!

At the site we saw the charred bodies of a woman and child, the hut still smouldering and assumed that the fuel fire would have been akin to a blanket of napalm. We picked up our shell souvenirs, not touching anything else, since we felt that the remnants maybe of use to the IAF. Not even the transparent plastic packet of rations, marked boldly with insignia of the USAF. ( There was a tempting MARS chocolate in there which in those days were not even available in stores in India!)

Astounding that the pure Pakis could not cobble up their own home-grown survival rations! Wryly did one mate remark "This probably makes them feel more of a super power, like their masters, the Americans!"

On the way out across the fields we came across the IAF jeep racing in our general direction and they were astounded when we told them that we were from IIT and that the pilot was dead and dismembered. They raced on and we raced back to the hostel in time for our (ugh) lunch. That evening we emptied out the shell casings of gunpowder, which we lit in celebration!

These incidents only strengthened my view of our pilots being top class, brave and gutsy guys. Having spent a lot of time with them on the ground, and witnessed their bravado and sense of humour, we realised that they carried that bravado and possibly also their sense of humour into their cockpits.

We chatted till the early hours and with that lack of sleep, we were awoken with the thunder of jet engines. Racing out to see what it was all about we were welcomed with a glorious sunrise and the sight of four MiG-21s crisscrossing in pairs, doing cap duty, which continued till sunset.

After dinner that night, still hanging about in the open corridor, we saw the colourful sight of ack-ack guns open fire, with tracer bullets. Forming a perfect cuboid over the airbase.

Rumour or Fact?:a)Fact: That Kalaikunda had not yet positioned their ack-ack guns which were delivered to them at the start of the war. that is why only one ack-ack was firing and we saw the fireworks of all combined the next night.

b)Rumour: That Kalaikunda could not launch its own a/c because the radar had been sabotaged/US.

c)Fact: That the Hunters came from Barrackpore

d)Rumour: That the F86 seen high tailing it past the IIT KGP tower plummeted into the sea or was waylaid by additional Hunters from Barrackpore.

I was a school boy during the war. I could read the papers but could not understand the geopolitical issues. I recall hearing names like Asal Uttar, Sialkot, Chhamb etc. on the radio. I clearly recall the cult status that Gnat fighters acquired as Sabre slayers. Names like Havildar Abdul Hamid come to mind.

The reasons for my confusion at that time have become clear to me after all these decades. Although the "anniversary" of the war is marked from 1st Sept to 22nd Sept - the events leading to the war had started in April 1965 and the papers were full of news of those events. War had been "imminent" for many months. Pakistani tanks had rolled into the Rann of Kutch. How this issue was settled, I don't know to this day. But reports of infiltrators came soon after. So there was plenty of action and the papers were full of comparisons of size and strength of the Paki army and other forces versus their Indian counterparts.

In any case war started formally on the 1st of September. We had blackouts (I was in Poona). Every glass pane had a doubel layer of thick brown paper stuck on followed by single layer of black paper. Lights inside teh house were switched off and candles used if possible. In those days we used to read World War 2 comics and could relate easily to the concept of blackouts - a less useful exercise nowadays. Not a ray of light could be seen outside after dark. we literally had to feel our way in the street. Home guards were on the lookout to warn people who showed any lights. Shining a torch at the sky meant that you were a Paki sympathizer trying to guide the PAF. Radio and the papers had announcements saying "Don't spread rumours" and "Donate generously to the National Defence Fund". I did not know what the word "rumour" meant and that was explained to me by my mother.

I am not sure if any Pakistani aircraft had the range to reach Poona - perhaps their B-57s could. In any case a C-130 loaded with bombs to be rolled out the back would have had the range.

Latest IMR also a spl. issue devoted to the '65 War. Both have great features on how the Gnats and our pilots,Keelor brothers and co.,demolished the myth of the Sabres. The counterattack against Lahore and Sialkot also covered well,which saw Pak forced to lessen pressure upon J&K to prevent Lahore from falling.

Philip wrote:Latest IMR also a spl. issue devoted to the '65 War. Both have great features on how the Gnats and our pilots,Keelor brothers and co.,demolished the myth of the Sabres. The counterattack against Lahore and Sialkot also covered well,which saw Pak forced to lessen pressure upon J&K to prevent Lahore from falling.

Thanks for the "Week" link.The Gnats were a kick ass surprise for Pakis.

Officers at Ambala Air Force Station were heading to the mess for a dining out—a formal farewell dinner for an officer who is getting posted out—when they got news that Pakistan had started shooting across the border. They would learn later that these were the opening shots of Operation Gland Slam, a bid to take over Akhnoor and the road to Kashmir. “Our squadrons were told to move to the front immediately,” said Air Marshal Denzil Keelor, 82. Then a 33-year-old squadron leader, Denzil commanded the Folland Gnats of Squadron 9.

The battle had begun badly. The Indian Army was not able to stop the Pakistani advance, which had reached Chhamb, Jammu and Kashmir. The Indian Air Force sent Squadron 45’s de Havilland Vampires to support the Army. But, on the evening of September 1, a Pakistani squadron of F-86 Sabres, led by their flying ace Sarfaraz Ahmed Rafiqui, shot down three Vampires. It was a huge blow to India. The Pakistani Air Force was exultant.

“Then, at 7.30am on September 3, our radars picked up a Pakistani air patrol at Chhamb. Squadron 23, which had moved to Pathankot, scrambled their Gnats,” said Denzil, alumnus of Lucknow’s La Martiniere. “They assembled two sections of four Gnats each, one led by Squadron Leader Johnny Green and the other by Trevor [Keelor].” Trevor was his brother, exactly a year younger.

Jimmy Goodman flew a decoy ahead of the Gnats. The Pakistani Sabres took the bait and rushed to intercept. Gnats are not so sensitive to radars, so they remained unseen till two Sabres got caught in the formation. Trevor got behind one and shot it down. “That was first blood,” said Denzil, grinning wide. “What a blow it was to Pakistan’s Air Force, which thought it was invincible. There was panic in their ranks even before our Gnats returned to base.”

Trevor became an instant hero, and a Vir Chakra was announced. At the first opportunity, Denzil called him up and said, “Well done, bro!”

The very next morning, one more Sabre was shot down far out on the eastern front. The kill was made by Flight Lieutenant Alfred Tyrone Cooke, another Lucknow boy and a schoolmate of the Keelors. Cooke had intercepted two Sabres over Kalaikunda and, after a fantastic dogfight, brought down one. “The other is a ‘probable’, meaning we are not sure if it was shot down or not,” said Denzil. Another Sabre down, another Vir Chakra announced.

Then, on September 19, Denzil was called to escort four Dassault Mystere fighter-bombers to Chawinda, near Sialkot. Two Army strike corps were engaged in a fierce ground battle here, while the Pakistani Air Force rained bombs on them. “It was late afternoon, around 4.30pm, when we took off in formation,” said Denzil. “Gnats behind Mysteres. We flew low, 100ft above ground, and I could see the battle on the ground through the smoke and the dust. We saw a huge column of tanks heading from the west to the east. It could only be the enemy. At the same time, we sighted four Sabres, targeting our ground forces. I called up [Flight Lieutenant Viney] Kapila and told him and buddy Mayadev to take on the two Sabres to the left, which were higher. Muna Rai and I tackled the lower flying ones.”

Soon, two simultaneous dogfights were on in the hazy sky. As the Sabres and Gnats engaged each other, Denzil noticed a dim burst of fire and thought more Pakistan aircraft had joined the fight. But, he quickly realised that this was anti-aircraft fire. “I was above the Sabres, and so had an advantage,” said Denzil.

Rai could not keep up with the air attack and was ordered to return to base. Through all the smoke, haze and fire, Denzil saw the Sabre in front of Kapila trailing black smoke before it turned sharply and hit the ground. “Kaps, you got him,” shouted Denzil over the radio, even as he tackled his own Sabres.

He got his chance when the Sabre below him rolled out and began turning left and right, searching for him. “He had lost sight of me,” said Denzil. “I took the chance, dived down and fired three bursts. The Sabre was leaking. Kapila joined me and tried shooting the craft, but his guns jammed and we headed back to base. Later, we learnt that the Sabre never made it to base, its pilot bailed out.”

Denzil’s adventures were not over. As he touched down, he realised that his left tyre had deflated, probably hit by anti-aircraft fire. He manoeuvred the Gnat to safety, but Kapila had to fly to Air Force Station Halwara to land. “That night, I learnt that Kapila and I were awarded the Vir Chakra. This time, Trevor called up and said, ‘Well done, bro’,” said Denzil.

The enormity of the day hit him only much later. “It is not like the movies,” he said. “There is so much happening that one does not have time to think of anything but the next action. Even when you land, the ground crew want to be briefed on how the engines and guns performed. And we know it is team work.”

Kapila’s buddy, Mayadev, was shot down and taken prisoner. He returned after a few months. “One does not exult in such an atmosphere,” said Denzil. He admits that once a few pegs are downed at the bar, inhibitions vaporise and tall tales are spun. Denzil’s tales, however, can never be as tall as his achievements. He has had an adventure-packed career, picking up a Kirti Chakra, a Param Vishisht Seva Medal, an Ati Vishisht Seva Medal and eight commendations, making him one of the most decorated officers of the IAF.

The Gnat fights of 1965 go down in history for several reasons. For the first time, three Vir Chakras were given for similar acts, gunning down Sabres. For the first time, two brothers got Vir Chakras for the same feat. And, La Martiniere, Lucknow, became the first school to have three alumni who were awarded Vir Chakras in the same war for the same feat.

So, on September 3, a grateful Indian Air Force will present the proud school with a Gnat, in a ceremony presided over by Air Chief Marshal Arup Raha himself.

In my opinion, the war ended in a stalemate. But, as it progressed, we were in an advantageous position. The IAF had lost only 8.5 per cent of its resources while the PAF is estimated to have lost 43 of its 186 aircraft.

Asal Uttar is a village of memorials. There are all sorts — big ones, small, by the roadside, in the fields. These, apart from the occasional dilapidated bunker, are probably the only signs that Asal Uttar, a village 12 km from the international border with Pakistan in Punjab’s Tarn Taran district, was the battlefield where Indian and Pakistani armies fought one of the fiercest tank battles of the 1965 war.

This is where Pakistan’s 1 Armoured Division was stopped in its tracks after a decisive battle with the Indian forces, thus earning the village and its surrounding areas an entry into the official history of the 1965 war as the place where the ‘Battle of Asal Uttar’ was fought.

Early in September, the Pakistani Army had captured Khemkaran town, 5 km from the border and 7 km from Asal Uttar. But as they moved towards Asal Uttar and neighbouring villages, the Pakistani troops were pushed back by the Indian 4th Mountain Division and later decimated by the 2nd Armoured Brigade of the Indian Army in a decisive battle between September 8 and 10. The Pakistan Army lost 97 Patton tanks, its showcase US-made hulks, in this encounter.

Fifty years later, it’s hard to imagine this as the theatre of war where the Pakistani Pattons and the Indian Shermans kicked up dust and fear in equal measure. Asal Uttar and its neighbouring areas have their share of war stories — of how Pakistani tank crews fled with the engines of the Pattons and how an entire armoured Pakistani regiment surrendered to the Indian Army.

Also read: 1965, fifty years later

After the war, the captured Pattons were displayed near Bhikkiwind, a town that’s about 10 km from Asal Uttar, and the place briefly came to be known as ‘Patton Nagar’.

On the outskirts of Chima, a village neighbouring Asal Uttar, lies the final resting place of Company Quartermaster Havildar Abdul Hamid who was awarded the nation’s highest gallantry award, the Param Vir Chakra, for shooting down three Pattons. He was killed barely 100 metres from where his grave now lies, when he was taking aim at a fourth tank.- See more at: http://indianexpress.com/article/india/ ... 4J7Xb.dpuf

Shaun wrote:Thanks Shivji for the effort you have made to educate us on 1965 war through those videos and ebook. Thanks Philip saab for the week link.

You're welcome Shaun. I don't think military jingos of India spend enough effort reading Indian military history. The easy way out is to read what's on the Internet which is full of what the US says and US does. As a result we get some absolutely absurd and ignorant views of what war has meant for India. There is a "secular, egalitarian" tendency to imagine that war for one nation is the same as war for another and if US does something - that is exactly what is needed. These assumptions cannot be helped but I can only ask that people open their purses and buy Indian military history books or scour the net for Indian experiences of war. Some of the most absurd and ignorant assumptions about war are taken as established wisdom on BRF based solely on internet surfing and US sources.

If we had the opportunity to read how Al Qaeda or the Taliban won battles against US or NATO forces or what the Vietnamese did we get a better idea of how fighting men innovate and sacrifice to turn disadvantage into victory. The story of Asal Uttar in 1965 is one such story. The 1965 war is a series of lessons that the interested jingo can learn by dipping into available resources. Compared with the mass or material that one finds about US wars on the Net one has to scour and dig for material and even western sources often tell the Paki side of the story and no American wants to write glowing chapters on how their latest and greatest got ass whupped by ragtag turd world armies in '65

A wounded shell-shocked tank commander from the 1st Armoured Division of the Pakistan Army emerges from his severely damaged M24 Chaffee tank which has got bogged down in the muddy fields of Indian Punjab. The Chaffee has had both its tracks blown off by mines and suffered extensive damage to its turret from multiple anti-tank rounds. An Indian Army officer leading a 4-man patrol from the 1/9th Gurkha Rifles has leapt up onto the tank and is asking the tank commander to surrender or else! He is covered by two of his men, one armed with a .303 rifle and the other armed with a Sten gun. However, the fourth and youngest member of the patrol, unable to keep his enthusiasm under control, is clambering up on to the back of the tank to capture the Pakistani officer himself!

The short, dhoti-clad Hindoo coward who would gather up his dhoti and run at the sound of gunfire

Ayub Khan’s belief that “Hindu morale would not stand more than a couple of hard blows at the right time and place” was emboldened by his army’s performance during the limited conflict in the Rann of Kutch in April 1965. The award of the international Kutch Tribunal had given 350 sq km territory to Pakistan and put Shastri under pressure. - See more at: http://indianexpress.com/article/india/ ... LGVoS.dpuf

April-June: Ceasefire negotiations begin. Both sides agree to restore status quo as of January 1, 1965. Ceasefire signed. Is to take effect from July 1.

June: Indian military authorities, prompted by ceasefire violations in J&K, decide not to remain passive any longer. Launch offensive.

August 5: Pakistan’s 12 Infantry Division, led by Maj Gen Akhtar Hussain Malik, launches extensive infiltration. Under Operation Gibraltar, 30,000 men are pushed across the ceasefire line (now called LoC) into J&K.

August: Indian leadership decides Pakistan needs to be dealt with strongly. India’s 68 Infantry Brigade is tasked to capture Haji Pir Pass in operation codenamed “Bakshi”. Haji Pir sector is secured. India’s XI Corps and I Corps plan offensive in Lahore and Sialkot. Offensive called off due to ceasefire on the night of September 23.

September 1: Pakistan makes a three-pronged attack. At 3 pm, Brigadier Manmohan Singh, commander of 191 Brigade Group, calls for IAF support when Pakistani tanks have reached 450 metres from Brigade HQ. IAF support arrives at 5 pm and bombs Pakistan army’s gun posts causing damage to all artillery ammunition lorries, tank ammunition. Brigade HQ is moved to Jaurian and given responsibility of defence of Akhnoor.

September 4: UN Security Council adopts a resolution jointly sponsored by six non permanent members for immediate ceasefire in Kashmir. Indian PM Lal Bahadur Shastri blames Pakistan for situation in J&K.

September 16: Shastri makes a statement in Parliament, puts blame on Pakistan.

September 22: Bhutto makes an impassioned statement on Kashmir at UNSC emergency session. Reads out Ayub Khan’s statement that Pakistan is unsatisfied with ceasefire… India’s permanent representative to UN, G Parthasarathi, conveys that India has accepted ceasefire and asks for a new date to implement it. UNSC fixes it at 3.30 pm on September 23

September 23: Guns go silent.

January 4, 1966: Indian and Pakistani leaders meet in Tashkent, Soviet Union, for talks

January 10: Shastri and Ayub Khan reach a final agreement. Joint declaration is signed by 4.30 pm.

A retired Soldier who was adjutant of the 1st Battalion (Special Forces), The Parachute Regiment pens down his recollection of the heroic operations to take the Haji Pir Pass in 1965

Capturing the crucial Hajipir Pass by Col JS Bindra (Retd)

I joined the 1st Battalion of the Parachute Regiment (Special Forces) in June of 1963 at Agra. In November, the Battalion, commanded by Lt Col GA Wright, moved to Jammu and Kashmir as part of 161 Mountain Brigade under 19 Division in the Uri sector. The battalion was given the task of manning nine picquets from Seb, opposite Pakistan picquet Sank, to the Kaman Bridge on the Uri-Muzaffarabad road along the Jhelum river. The Battalion Headquarters was at Uri. At that time I was second-in-command of ‘C’ company, occupying picquets Chakus and Chabuk-Kaman Bridge. In April of 1965, I took over as Adjutant of 1 Para (SF). The Uri sector was quiet then. On July 15, Lt Col Prabhjinder Singh took over command of 1 Para and Major (later Lt Gen) RS Dyal was second-in-command. By mid-July, it had become clear that the Pakistani offensive, code-named “Operation Gibraltar”, had been launched wherein heavily-armed civilian guerillas (mujahids) backed by regulars in civilian disguise were infiltrating into Indian Kashmir at various points along the 470-mile ceasefire line. The regular Pakistan Army also began to get involved and Indian positions on the ceasefire line in the Uri sector were shelled. The Uri garrison was also shelled. 1 Para retaliated with small arms and heavy and medium gunfire. One of the entry points of infiltration, causing so much mischief in Indian Kashmir, was the Hajipir Pass situated at an altitude of 8,652 feet. It lay south of Uri on the Uri-Poonch Road, 5 miles from the ceasefire line in the Pakistan-occupied zone of Kashmir. The eastern route from Uri to Hajipir is dominated by the steep and formidable Badori feature (12,360 feet). The western route from Uri to Hajipir Pass is dominated by Sank (9,498 feet) and Led Wali Gali (10,302 feet). These heights were physically held by Pakistani regulars. In order to seal off the above infiltration route, Hajipir Pass had to be captured. The task of capturing Hajipir was assigned to 68 Mountain Brigade. It was commanded by Brig Zoru Bakshi. The following units were placed under command of the brigade: 1 Para, 19 Punjab, 4 Rajput, 6 Dogra and 6 Jammu and Kashmir Rifles. The brigade, along with the units, concentrated at Uri by August 24. The 68 Brigade planned to capture Hajipir Pass by a two-pronged attack. The first phase was an attack along the right (western) flank by 1 Para to capture Sank and exploit up to Led Wali Gali up to Point 1003. On the left front (eastern) flank, 19 Punjab was to capture Badori and exploit up to Kuthnar Di Gali. The second phase called for 4 Rajput to roll down to Hajipir Pass. Pakistan knew the importance of Sank. Therefore, it was held in strength and supported by medium machine guns and 3-inch mortars. The task of capturing Sank was given to ‘A’ and ‘C’ companies of 1 Para under the overall command of Maj Dyal. On August 25, at 8 pm, the ‘C’ company secured the Ring Contour, which was the forming-up-area for the frontal and silent assault on Sank. At 10 pm, ‘A’ company led by Maj Dyal started climbing towards Sank. Due to heavy rain, visibility was very poor. The enemy also started firing from the top of Sank on advancing troops. At first light, it became clear that a frontal attack would not be possible and therefore it was abandoned with two dead and 20 injured. On the left-front flank, 19 Punjab could not proceed further and the attack was called off. Sank had to be captured at any cost, therefore 1 Para was again tasked to capture Sank on August 26/27. ‘B’ and ‘D’ companies were assigned to capture Sank under the overall command of Maj Dyal. The second attack was preceded by very heavy shelling on Sank by 164 Field Regiment. Capt MD Naidu, the forward observation officer, gave very accurate covering fire to the assaulting troops. The enemy was totally shaken by the very heavy artillery fire. With Maj Dyal personally leading the assault, 1 Para captured Sank by 4.30 am on August 27. The enemy withdrew, leaving behind their dead and wounded. Expecting an early counter-attack, Maj Dyal quickly re-organised the defences. Maj Baicher, who was commanding ‘D’ company, was ordered to proceed to Led Wali Gali and occupy it. In the meantime, the enemy opened small arms fire from Sawan Patri. Capt MMPS Dhillon quickly moved with his platoon towards Sawan Patri and in a quick and gallant action occupied it. By 11 am, Sank up to Led Wali Gali was captured. On the eastern flank, 19 Punjab was still short of Badori. By 2 pm on August 27, it was clear to the brigade and division HQ that the capture of Hajipir Pass from Badori was not possible. Therefore, as suggested by the commanding officer of 1 Para, Maj Dyal was assigned to proceed to Hajipir Pass with ‘A’ and ‘D’ companies via Hader Nala. I was ordered to move the battalion HQ from Seb to Sank. By 4 pm, the force commanded by Maj Dyal started moving towards Hajipir Pass. The task involved moving down to Hyderabad Nala and then climbing up 4,000 feet to Hajipir Pass. The force was moving with the help of a compass. The terrain was very rugged and slippery and to add to the discomfort, it started raining heavily. By 4.30 pm, the force reached the base of Hajipir Pass. As the troops had been on the march for 48 hours, Maj Dyal gave them a break. At 5 am, the force again started climbing towards the pass. In an hour, it was just short of the objective. Maj Dyal deployed the leading platoon on the ground with orders to engage the enemy if it opened fire from the pass, and himself with the remaining troops quickly climbed the right shoulder, unseen, and rolled down to the pass. At 7 am, Maj Dyal informed me on the radio set that Hajipir Pass had been captured. I informed the Commanding Officer and Brigade HQ. By 11 am, Hajipir Pass was fully secured. The battalion commander was already proceeding towards Hajipir Pass; I also started moving the Battalion HQ towards Hajipir Pass and reached there by 4 pm. The complete battalion concentrated on Hajipir Pass by last light on August 28. At 7 pm the same day, an enemy patrol moving towards Hajipir was intercepted. The patrol leader, Capt Maqsood, and nine other ranks were taken prisoner. In the next 72 hours, the ‘C’ and ‘D’ companies captured the adjoining heights. In these mopping-up operations, Maj JCM Rao, commanding ‘C’ company, and Maj AS Bindra, commanding ‘D’ company, were critically wounded. Capt TB Gurung and Subedar Arjun and 10 other soldiers died. While Maj Dyal was awarded the Maha Vir Chakra, Hav Umrao and Capt MD Naidu were awarded Vir Chakra. Capt MMPS Dhillon and Sub Arjun Singh were conferred with the Sena Medal. 1 Para was awarded Battle Honour Hajipir and Theatre Honour Jammu and Kashmir (1965). The huge success of 1 Para in capturing Hajipir Pass can be attributed to two factors: bold leadership qualities displayed by the commanders at every level, and the physical fitness of all ranks in the unit.

IAF takes a candid look at the 1965 warRajat Pandit,TNN | Aug 23, 2015, 12.01 AM ISTIAF takes a candid look at the 1965 warArms and the man: IAF chief Air Marshal Arjan Singh (centre) visits an Indian airbase during the war.It was the first air battle between India and Pakistan. The Indian Air Force was numerically superior, with 28 combat squadrons to PAF's 11, but it was saddled with technologically inferior fighters. And, caught off-guard by the PAF offensive, India had lost 35 of its aircraft on the ground during pre-emptive strikes — one on Pathankot on September 6 and then on Kalaikunda, a day later.

IAF's latest history of its operations in the 1965 war acknowledges it "suffered disproportionately higher losses" than PAF. But it says the force showed "resilience and determination" to set aside initial losses and gradually turn the tables on its adversary with effective counter-strikes to "prosecute" the war till the ceasefire came into effect on September 22.

The IAF-commissioned book, The Duels of the Himalayan Eagle: The First Indo-Pak Air War, is being released on September 1, as part of the war's golden jubilee celebrations that will last from August 28 to September 22. The Army, too, is coming out with its new account of the 1965 war. As reported by TOI earlier, the Modi government's plan to celebrate the 1965 war as "a great victory" over Pakistan has raised quite a few eyebrows because even the defence ministry's official war history describes its end as a stalemate.

The new IAF book itself notes that the MoD's official history division had concluded: "Taking an overall view of the air war, it appears clear neither side won any decisive victory. Both mauled each other, but could not kill. Both operated without a clear-cut plan and failed to concentrate their resources on close air support (to the ground forces), or counter air attacks to achieve a decisive victory."

The book is written by Air Marshal (retd) Bharat Kumar, who was a young fighter pilot during the war. He got access to official records, squadron diaries and talked to several veterans for the 320-page book that debunks all accounts that portray PAF as a clear winner because the IAF suffered greater losses.

In all, IAF lost 59 out of its inventory of 460 aircraft, while PAF lost 43 of its 186 aircraft during the war. IAF grappled with first-generation subsonic fighters like Vampire and Dassault Toofani as well as second-generation transonic ones like Mystere, Hawker Hunter and Gnats, apart from the bomber-interdictor Canberra. It had just a handful of third-generation supersonic MiG-21s, which were then being acquired from Russia and would remain its mainstay for decades to come.

But Pakistan, which had cosied up to the US by the mid-1950s, was equipped with F-86 Sabre jets, F-104 Starfighters and B-57 Martin Canberras, along with much-better better weapons and radars. Moreover, 13 of IAF's 28 squadrons had been deployed in the eastern and central sectors to tackle the Chinese threat.

"Whereas Pakistan was fighting on one front, India had to be ready on more than one and therefore had to divide and conserve her resources accordingly," says the book. Replete with veteran accounts of riveting dogfights and bombing missions, it calculates that the effective ratio of combat squadrons between IAF and PAF was 12:10.

"There is no doubt that Indian losses in aircraft were higher and Pakistan has tried to use just this figure alone to proclaim its victory...Nothing could be farther from the truth," says the book. In the final analysis, despite initial reverses, India was able to successfully thwart Pakistan's grand design through Operation Gibraltar and Operation Grand Slam to wrest Kashmir in the official 22-day war.

The book also takes a candid look at the abysmal lack of coordination between IAF and the Army, a controversy that lingers to this day, with the author admitting that "mistakes were made", as they are made in all wars.

There was, for instance, a huge delay in providing air support on September 1 when Pakistan launched Operation Grand Slam to capture Akhnoor to cut off the Kashmir Valley from the rest of India. The Army began demanding air support at 11 am but IAF fighters reached the battle area only at 5.30 pm after "political clearance" was granted.

Absence of joint IAF-Army planning and tardy intelligence as well as poor communication links and radar coverage, scarce resources and the wide theatre of operations, all led to the disjointed conduct of operations by India, which was still recovering from the 1962 debacle with China. But the lessons were learnt, as was witnessed during Pakistan's crushing defeat in the 1971 war.

Pakistan has long claimed victory over India in the 1965 war, celebrating September 6 as the 'Defence of Pakistan Day', when most objective assessments have held that the war ended more or less in a draw.

India was always more realistic, with its official war history recording that the 1965 war was more of a stalemate than anything else. Military gains were also lost on the negotiating table.

But with the Modi government deciding to celebrate the 1965 war as a "great victory" on its 50th anniversary, with even a "commemorative carnival" being planned, a new reader-friendly history of the war unabashedly concludes: "India won the war." Commissioned by the Army's official think-tank Centre for Land Warfare Studies, the new book titled '1965, Turning the Tide: How India Won the War' has been written by defence analyst Nitin Gokhale. The book is part of the defence ministry's ongoing major project to rewrite histories of all wars and major operations to make them "simple and reader-friendly", as earlier reported by TOI.

While IAF's new history of its operations in the 1965 war debunks accounts that its Pakistani counterpart was the victor since the former lost more aircraft, as was reported on Sunday, the Army book goes several steps further.

"It is clear India not only thwarted the Pakistani designs but also inflicted unacceptable losses on the Pakistani military, triggering many changes within that country's politico-military structure," argues the book, which will be released on September 1.

For one, India captured 1,920 sq km of Pakistani territory while losing 540 sq km of its own. For another, India lost 2,862 soldiers, while the toll for Pakistan was 5,800, says the book quoting the then defence minister Y B Chavan's statement in Rajya Sabha. Moreover, Pakistan lost over 450 tanks, while India lost less than 100. But the figures can vary, with the book itself acknowledging that Pakistan said only 1,033 of its soldiers died in the war.

Statistics apart, the 280-page book says Pakistan miserably failed to achieve its strategic objectives. Operation Gibraltar, which sought to infiltrate mujahids and regular soldiers into J&K stood defeated when the Kashmiris did not rise up in revolt to support them.

Then Pakistani President Ayub Khan was forced to launch Operation Grand Slam, a full-fledged military assault to sever the Kashmir Valley from the rest of India. "It was a masterstroke in conception but faltered in execution," says the book.

"Finally, Pakistan's last shot at glory by sending its much-touted 1 Armoured Division into Khem Karan came a cropper... In the end, the so-called glorious war planned by Ayub turned into a military-politico-diplomatic defeat for Pakistan," the book adds.

It also dwells upon India's defensive mindset, cautious military leadership and intelligence failures during the war. India, as is well-known, committed a major blunder in accepting the ceasefire on September 22.

It was based on the then Army chief general J N Chaudhuri's advice to then PM Lal Bahadur Shastri that his force had used most of its frontline ammunition. Later, it was found that while Pakistan had almost exhausted its reserves by September 22, India had used only 14% of its frontline ammunition and still had twice the number of tanks. If the war had continued, India perhaps could have celebrated it as a decisive victory like the 1971 war.

I would start with both of Jagan's books - i.e the 1965 air war book and the book "Eagles over Bangladesh"

Now we all know that the IAF now has Su-30, Mirage, Jag, MiG 21 etc. We also know the range, payload, capability etc of all those planes. Our discussions are based on those data points with zero inkling of the real issues faced by war fighters which are far removed from 99% of our discussions.

For example if an Indian jingo in 1965 of about age 25 had access to the internet and could discuss the PAF and IAF capabilities - he would have been able to say how the PAF had radar cover. They had a proven fighter in the F-86 Sabre armed with Sidewinders. The had F-104s. They had well dispersed air bases protected by AA batteries. But India on the other hand had more aircraft of X, Y Z capability. No radar. No AAMs. No Supersonic fighter. But if you read the actual book you realize that it was not these theoretical capabilities we discuss so much on BRF that mattered but things that we don't even imagine. And you read about innovations that turned the tide somewhere and sheer grit elsewhere. No one even knows how navigation was done with pinpoint accuracy at night using compass, torch and stopwatch. What's so great about this? What is great is that while it puts a heavy workload on the pilot it negates any advantage that an opponent with better nav-attack systems may think he has because the other guy does not have it. So there goes one "tech advantage" - the price paid is better training to work under adverse conditions. Why does this matter? Read the books. India faces adverse conditions of types that one cannot guess until we read about Indian pilots in Indian wars rather than US pilots in Australian blogs.

You have to read the books to understand the limitations and capabilities and they are nothing like the book descriptions of specs. Increasingly BRF is filling up with theoretical jingo discussions of weapons systems and capabilities and personal likes an dislikes are often settled by simply cursing some retired Air marshal and calling him a bribe taker. This actually brings BRF quality down to the lowest possible level because the people who say those things have not read anything at all about how an air force fights its war even when books are available. if they had an inkling they would possibly put in more effort to see the Air Marshal's viewpoint. One of the most amusing newbie naive things that one hears often on BRF is how "combat flying" is tough and routine flying just does not cut it. This only shows complete ignorance. Why? Read the books. Sometimes I feel our admins have not done their reading - unlike the older dedicated BR stalwarts like Rupak, Jagan, Rakesh and Seetal. This is not good for BRF which shows itself as a crass forum of nincompoops who think they know it all - bandwagoning on some old timer's self praise claiming that BRF is ahead of the curve. It is not in so many ways. We need excellence, but we seem to have dispensed with it.